


Everyone Else Be Damned

by Unusual_Raccoon



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood and Violence, Dark Lauriver, Dark Oliver Queen, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Introspective Oliver Queen, Mentioned Curtis Holt - Freeform, Mentioned Rene Ramirez - Freeform, Mentioned Rory Reegan, My take on s05e9 "Who Are You?", Sorry Not Sorry, This took a turn...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unusual_Raccoon/pseuds/Unusual_Raccoon
Summary: Oliver protects Black Siren at the cost of his team.
Relationships: Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 24
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had kicking around for a while, and this week has been a little bit of a rough one for me, so I figured I'd put this out and try and cheer myself up.

The jig was up, thanks to the interference of one Felicity Smoak, Laurel’s role in this little charade staged by a madman had been ruined. Laurel winced at the foul memory of Oliver’s betrayed expression at the revelation that she was in fact not his darling birdie. She was an imposter, by no choice of her own. The pesky little blonde had been all too pleased to ruin the trust she had strenuously crafted between herself and this Earth’s Oliver Queen. And as a result Laurel was left to bear the brunt of Prometheus’ frustration...alone. Of course she hadn’t intended for things with Oliver to fall apart, though she had been pleased to quit pretending to be someone she wasn’t, she would miss the electric warmth of his touch; a rarity that seemed only his dead birdie was worthy of receiving. The way she fit perfectly in his arms was a feeling that would no doubt haunt her. She’d miss him, though it was becoming startlingly clear that she wasn’t destined to keep Oliver Queen, regardless of what Earth she was on.

Sporting an ugly boot shaped bruise around her neck, she was left to turn to the one person that might still help her, if only because she shared a face with a dead woman.

It was a risk calling him, after nearly bringing the bunker down around them with a sonic cry that shook the foundations of the building. He could just as easily condemn her to a fate at the hands of the hooded terror that had tormented them both.

For a moment Laurel even feared he might, given the ugly indignation coloring his voice in their whispered call over the phone. The staticky growl he snarled at the sound of her name. There was an undeniable anger in him, his broken trust cutting him just the same as it wounded her, like a double-edged blade.

“What I did was unforgivable, but he made me do it, Prometheus…” Laurel explained, a desperation in her words. A brief pause stretched on, and even when faced with the raw burn of Oliver’s anger, she still ached to hear his voice...it had been a number of years she had been able to enjoy the sound.

_ “What do you mean he made you?” _

Laurel let out a shaky sigh, exhilarated by the sound of his concern crackling through the speaker of her cellphone. His worry was intoxicating… and to think she had been responsible for that, not his precious bird,  _ her _ . Ending the conversation prematurely had been a last ditch effort to use his concern against him, that it would bring him closer. That it would guide him back to her.

And eventually it did. Standing in the shadow of the Black Canary statue, it’s imposing bronzed visage watching over them. Laurel swallowed nervously at the sight of him, hooded, with his bow in hand, a hunter looking for prey. There was an unabashed sweep of his blue eyes over her that was hard to ignore. Even though the intent behind the long stare was difficult to decipher, the insistent burn of his gaze stirred a dizzy want in her stomach.

An unavoidable magnetism that inevitably pulled them together, it had happened before in the bunker, under the guise of his precious Laurel, she had flocked into his open arms. It was a feeling she couldn’t articulate, but craved on a molecular level...she could feel it guiding them together again.

There was something familiar reflected in the warmth of his gaze, a sympathy that told her he could feel what she was feeling too. A hunger resided in him as well, coloring every hard line of his body, though he poorly tried to disguise it as his eyes lingered on her. And she loved it. She loved knowing that even amongst the unfettered truth of who she was coming to light, he still wanted her, or at least a piece of him did. And perhaps that was all she could ask for.

Laurel found herself walking that tenuous line between good and bad in her plea for help, her phone and subsequently her hand held out in offering. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to come of this exchange, maybe a reprieve from hole she had managed to bury herself in for the past few years. Or maybe just an end to her cycle of loneliness; a feeling that had haunted her since she had bid her Ollie an unassuming farewell on the docks that day.

There was a haunting blink of an eye, cellphone clutched in her grasp, she could feel that pull, watching the hunch of his shoulders as he struggled against the tempting draw of her orbit...the wet drag of his tongue across his lips...the flicker of those blue eyes…

Framed against the dark abyss of water spanning behind them, the effigy to his dead lover looming over them, caught in a precarious moment, unable to deny the snare of an otherworldly want forcing them together. There was nothing but the eerie silence, the brief ragged sound of their breathing, suspended in that illusion as Oliver bowed into her space, jaw tense as he drew in a harsh gasp of her air.

The illusion didn’t last though, nothing ever did, their pretty veneer of possibility shattering at the chatter of gunfire and swarm of threatening figures leaping from the shadows. Laurel registered the wince of regret beneath the shadow of Oliver’s hood, he wanted this ambush just as much as she had wanted to betray him at the hands of Prometheus.

Yet at the sudden crack of gunfire, a sonic scream welling in her instinctually, Laurel soon realized that any potential for goodness in her would never outweigh her capability for destruction. In that moment, bullets whizzing in her direction, she could feel her balance wane, her good intentions slipping as she found herself swallowed up by the proverbial darkness to wreak havoc...and never in a thousand years would she have imagined that she wasn’t the only one to fall into that endless abyss.

It was all the more apparent that the goons charging forward were amateurs, children in the face of a monster. At the taut stretch of his bowstring being pulled back, an arrow nocked in half the time it took her to blink. Laurel quickly realized, she wasn’t the only one they should fear.

In the face of their aggression, Oliver fired back, though unlike his supposed allies he didn’t miss. The first arrow found its mark, sinking into flesh and sending dual sidearms and a body clattering to the ground. The following arrow let loose a torrent of fire liable to set ancient rags aflame. A scream tore the air, though Laurel was surprised it didn't come from her. Everything was happening so quickly. The final arrow provided a thick cloud of smoke to hide their escape.

The firm grip of his arm around her waist was sudden, pulling her to him, tearing the air from her lungs as he whisked them away. They took shelter in an abandoned building in the Glades. Boots crunching over the broken shards of ruined windows scattered across the uneven ground.

None of this felt real to the reluctant villain, her panic accompanied by the harsh hammering of her heart and acrid taste of adrenaline on her tongue. Stepping closer to Oliver, glass hissing beneath her feet, as she took a hold of his hands, just as steady as they were when firing back on her behalf.

That harsh gravitational pull fitting them together, powerful and catastrophic like planets colliding. She shuddered at the shaky exhale leaving his lips, trembling at the entirely overwhelming nearness of his lips. If this was a dream, Laurel internally declared it was one she didn’t want to end.

“Ollie…” She croaked, voice hoarse. Sucking in a terrified breath as she watched Oliver tear through what remained of his restraint, bindings that held him back from her. There was something unbearably gripping about watching him shed the last of whatever heroic notion had forced him to go without his visceral need for her. Laurel bucked wildly at the desperate hand tangling in her hair. Groaning with enough force to make the ground tremble beneath their feet as she bloomed under the warmth of his lips. His mouth burned against hers, his touch electric and alive, ravenous where it chewed across her body. She scrabbled for a grip on him, fingers anchoring against his shoulders as she heaved an exhilarated sound against his wanting mouth.

If there was any doubt that what had occurred was real, the hot pulse of his body igniting hers was an anchor in present, chaining her to him in their bloody reality.

\--

The truth had come out, Laurel wasn’t Laurel. Jarring as it was, Oliver stomached the revelation. He knew he should’ve been shaken by the knowledge, and truthfully a part of him was, but another part of him rejoiced. The woman that plagued his thoughts may not have been the one he buried, but she was herself all the same and for that he was eternally grateful.

He was even a little envious, he wished he could be so unabashedly himself.

In recent years Oliver found himself having a hard time distinguishing who he was, the person he saw reflected in the mirror wasn’t one he recognized. He supposed he had undergone some of his more dramatic changes when under the severe pressure presented by his five year long stint away from home. Yet here he was 10 years later, and no more recognizable to himself than he had been when he’d taken his first life.

  
  


The people in his life herded him through hoops and around obstacles, be the Mayor, they encouraged - though it was Thea and Quentin that fed him the words people wanted to hear. Be a hero, the city demanded, pushing his body past it’s limits day after day, for a thankless lot - somehow the definition of his goodness had been smeared like perpetually wet ink, unable to dry, only getting more and more muddied with time. Kill, don’t kill, the rules were all foreign now, written in a penmanship that was not his own. Trust, they pleaded, and he had tried, but it was hard to build with broken fingers. Perhaps he was naive to think this, more often than not it was safer to keep his thoughts to himself, rather than face the unflinching judgement of his teammates, new and old; things had been easier when he was alone. He soon realized that the situation with Laurel was no different, she was a victory he could savor in the privacy of his own mind.

He had struggled to build with others what came easiest with her. She was Laurel, not his Laurel, as people insisted on reminding him. Even still there was a kinship in her that he understood, a familiarity that couldn’t be built - it just was. She was a stranger, an anomaly in the story he had let others write for him. Yet, he knew her better than he knew himself.

His head ached as he attempted to give a name to the thing he now was. A hero, a martyr, a murderer, the terms blended together, synonymous and lacking in meaning. A hunter perhaps? Maybe once...before all of this. And what a hunter he had been, the soft-bellied prey scrambling in their ivory towers, awaiting their predator in a pelt of green brandishing rows of teeth sharp and pointed like arrowheads. But the wrending of flesh and thrill of the hunt was frowned upon, heroes didn’t kill and they most certainly didn’t enjoy it...

Now? Now, Oliver wasn’t sure what he was, a puppet seemed appropriate, being tugged along with tangled strings. It became a challenge to lead his team with the snarled wires rising up around his neck like a noose. A complacency had stricken him like disease, softening his voice and dulling his teeth. Erasing the shadow of the man he was before, making it all the more difficult when his true colors would show, reigning in a beast that was unfamiliar to all, including himself.

Though the appearance of this anomaly, this new Laurel, ignited something wild in him. Something he had tried to bury, it was easier not to be bad when he let others make his decisions for him. He had learned to be lenient in the absence of autonomy. 

But  _ her _ ... she changed him, challenged him, practically brought the roof down around him. That pretty ear-shattering siren song awakening a long hidden predatory hunger in him.

A hot shiver tore up his spine at the thought of harm coming to her, his pretty bird with broken wings… His brain readily supplying the deafening hum of the flatline, it had carved its way into his memory. Stubborn and haunting. No, he refused to lose this Laurel too. Prometheus could tear him apart, as could his team, he didn’t care. It had been far too long since he had set his priorities straight, and Laurel was at the top of the list.

Oliver had watched the tantalizing swing of her swing of her hips as she drew nearer, growling into the comms when Felicity had taken it upon herself to give  _ him  _ orders. That loose tongue of hers was something he’d have to deal with later. His attention diverted as Laurel came close, her eyes drinking him in all the while he returned the favor.

It was hard not to smile as Laurel offered her help to catch Prometheus, while her help would be appreciated, Oliver recognized his desperation had little to do with the information he could gain, but rather was a result of the woman the information came from. A hard tension filled him as he fought against the urge to sweep her into his arms, to hold her close like his every atom demanded. His postured stuttered, like walking through cement as he leaned into her space, the air somehow sweeter with her near.

They were stuck still in that moment, all that tension coiling in him released at the crack of gunfire, the clumsy assault barreling in their direction startling him into movement. Unburdened by hesitation, he moved with an effortless ease as he returned the volley of projectiles. An arrow disarming Rene quickly and easily, sending the poor excuse of a vigilante sprawled on his back. His next shot igniting the ancient rags of Rory’s suit, the most promising of his proteges slumping in a crackling blaze. Oliver could detect the frantic cry of Curtis’ voice as he fired the final arrow, obscuring them in a plume of smoke. Seizing Laurel with an arm around her waist, Oliver hummed at the sound of her breathless exhale.

Huddled away in the darkness provided by the abandoned building they had taken refuge in, Oliver held her close. His lips still tingling from the insisten press of hers, his hood pushed back and his mask hanging around his neck, as she took his face in her hands.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked quietly, smiling at her gentle laughter.

“Me?” Laurel asked in disbelief, her dark lipstick smudged down her chin. Her smile widening as the gentle confirming hum Oliver gave in response.

“Earlier today, I was terrified…” Laurel admitted, Oliver gave a small frown at the thought, his arms winding around her to keep her close.

“And now?” He asked gently, his hand smoothing back her hair, patiently awaiting her response.

“Now...I’ve never felt safer.” She whispered in return, her arms coming up to reciprocate the desperate embrace he held her in. Oliver gave a shiver at the rasp of her lips against the scruff coloring his cheek. Pride bloomed in him at the thought, a smile pulling at his lips at the warm feeling in his chest. It was strange being proud of what he had done, he had protected her, yes, but at the cost of a team he had never wanted. Oliver supposed the feeling he was searching for was guilt or remorse, though it never came. He was happy, yet he wore the blood of his former allies all the same...and he would do it again, he’d do it for her without question.

Laurel held fast to him like he might disappear, like he would vanish into the ether without a trace, smiling at the similar bruising grip he maintained on her.

“I think we made some enemies today…” Laurel murmured, leaning into his welcoming warmth.

“Made some friends too.” Oliver clarified with a smile, savoring the sound of her resounding laughter. The sound vibrated between them, buzzing from her chest to his.

“Oh, is that what we are?” Laurel asked teasingly, giggling at the unabashed squeeze of his palm over her rear.

Oliver couldn’t help but wince at his own choice of words, no, they weren’t friends. They were so much more than that. Friends sounded mundane? Boring and inconsequential. Dinah Laurel Lance was none of those things. She was  _ everything… _

He crooned a pleased sound at the warm glide of her palm against his cheek. He melted into her touch, humming at the way she knew how to stir him into a frothing puddle of want with a simple brush of their skin.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Oliver whispered against her lips, feeling the warmth of her rock back against him. It was a solemn vow, one that he intended to keep.

He’d put her first, no matter what, it was like an old friend had once said,  _ everyone else be damned. _

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all kinds of messed up, we're really leaning into the dark vigilantism in this chapter. Oliver and Laurel really give zero fucks, so, do with that what you will.

Rolling in the skin-warmed sheets at the buzz of his cellphone, Oliver mumbled a sleepy sound against Laurel’s nape. His teeth dug into the flesh there, smiling against her skin at the gentle hum of approval she released. Her body rocked back against his, their skin sticky and tangled sheets adhering to their connected form.

Feeling that staticky rush of tunnel vision diverting his attention as his lover shifted in the snarl of sheets to face him, her warm smile stained with a splash of aged crimson. Their lily white sheets turned a muddy oxidized red, the color of dried blood. They had been hunting last night…

Crescents of blood lingered beneath his nails where his fingers carded through her hair, Oliver gave a feral grin at the gentle purr she rumbled, leaning into his touch. His phone gave another chime, fumbling for the device, red stained fingers curling around the glowing screen. His gaze flickering over some article about his legitimacy as Mayor, not that he particularly cared, by some twist of fate his approval rating was up...something about the nosedive in criminal activity in recent weeks. Tossing the device aside disinterestedly, he gladly turned his attention back to Laurel. 

Oliver’s fingers inched higher, scratching lightly at the little spots of blood that dirtied her skin. They were both a mess, sticky with blood and sweat from a little post patrol celebration. It had been a good hunt. Laurel had made a man explode the night before, and Oliver wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t witnessed her sonic scream pop the guy open. Guts and blood splattered comically on the street. The guy had it coming, peddling Vertigo cut with battery acid by the youth center in the Glades. 

What few criminals that were willing to try their hand were met with the newfound ferocity of the city’s very own guardian angels. No cumbersome team, no inexperienced lackeys, no insubordination...just him and her. There was a balance to it.

Oliver still thought fondly of the night he had broken away from his team, not fondness for the undisciplined inflated egos he had weeded out - no, fondness for the freedom their absence had given him. What remained of his former allies had taken to ground, scurrying like vermin at the flash of a light. There were still a few names to cross off his ever growing list, but those were pleasantries to be indulged in when they had the time.

The city was repossessed, held under their rule and none seemed to question it either, least of all with the Prometheus problem still on the table.

The only laws they broke were the necessary ones...what was a little murder when saving the city?

Suiting up at nightfall as had become their tradition, Oliver grinned down at Laurel, his fingers steady as he pulled up the zipper of her top. The long leather coattails of her jacket flapping as he abruptly yanked her close. Their bodies colliding, fitting together perfectly, synchronous in the slow measure of their breathing. Her dark lips spread into a wicked smile as they stood nose to nose, chest to chest, intimate and unburdened, savoring their nearness. Her gloved fingers adjusted his mask beneath the cover of his hood.

Oliver sucked in an exhilarated breath as Laurel leaned close, stuck in his orbit. Her pink tongue gave his lips a playful swipe, warm and wet and far too tempting.

“Let’s go play.” She said with a wiggle of her brows.

The city was their playground, their jungle, to hunt and prowl, to pick away at feeble prey from atop their seats as the apex predator.

Oliver tensed at the approaching squeal of tires, his jaw clenching as he watched Laurel strut into the street. Even the swing in her hips wasn’t enough to distract Oliver from his abundant worry. He knew from experience that his darling siren was as fearsome as they came, his equal and his superior in many ways, her safety was still his utmost priority - even when she didn’t need his protection.

They had overheard police radio chatter of a robbery in progress, and they had arrived...to stop the progress. While stopping a vehicle was something either one of them were capable of, Laurel’s method was certainly the riskier of the two.

“Be careful.” Oliver chided, his skin prickling with an electric want at the sharp grin Laurel tossed over her shoulder.

“It’s cute that you’re worried.” Laurel said with a wink, her figure a dark silhouette against the dull pavement.

His gaze shifted at the approaching roar of the unmarked van, the massive chassis jerking as the vehicle made a sharp turn down the road. Barreling in their direction, more accurately right at Laurel.

His fingers itched impatiently as the van grew closer and closer, not showing any signs of slowing as it approached her. In the defense of the driver Oliver figured she wasn’t easy to see in the dark wearing all that black. He’d have to see about throwing in a pop of color to her suit, something loud and eye catching, maybe yellow?

Nocking an arrow smoothly, Oliver adjusted his aim, following the moving target that was steadily speeding towards the love of his life. Exhaling a breath he released the shot, watching as the van lurched, unsteady with a now flat tire. The vehicle skidded, zigzagging back and forth across the street as the driver struggled to maintain control. A howl of the brakes screeching as they swerved in back into Laurel’s direction.

Her shoulders were tense, chest swollen with air, Oliver observed, breathless himself as he watched her let out a devastating sonic scream. The force shattering nearby car windows. The van collapsed in on itself, occupants crushed as the vehicle flattened beneath the overwhelming force of her cry. Tires popped, glass exploded and chassis deformed, dented and compressed. The snarled metal husk came to a screeching halt. Blood and oil wept from the wreckage.

Oliver licked his lips as he closed the distance to Laurel, an otherworldly warmth brewing in his chest as neared her. He grinned at the weak jab of her elbow against his stomach, the kevlar weave of his suit muffling the contact.

“I had that.” Laurel pointed out haughtily, obviously displeased with his interference. She sucked in a sharp breath as Oliver used the body of his bow to hook her back against his chest.

“I know you did.” Oliver purred, smiling at the way she leaned into him unabashedly. He wouldn’t apologize for being concerned about her, but that also didn’t mean he couldn’t earn a bit of her favor back.

“How can I make it up to you?” Oliver asked warmly, feeling her tremble against him. The leather coattails of her outfit fanning out as she spun to face him. Her chest suddenly flush with his, a playful smirk on her lips as she gazed up at him.

“Well,” Laurel drawled, a feigned innocence in her voice, “I can think of a few things.” She tacked on, the smirk sharpening into something ravenous that made Oliver swallow a sound of excitement. That heady magnetism guiding his lips to hers, blurring the sounds of the city as they collided, hot and livid. She tasted of adrenaline and power, the scent of burnt rubber and gasoline polluting their shared breath. Her teeth tugged unforgivingly at his lower lip, tearing free a growl of want. His fingers dug into her flesh, bruising where they settled over her hips.

Disentangling at the surprising groan of metal from the wreckage of the van, Oliver felt Laurel tense in his hold. Both vigilantes turned to observe the activity.

They moved closer to inspect the gnarled hunk of metal, an arrow pinched between Oliver’s fingers reflexively as the warped metal gave another pained groan. Tensing in anticipation as the somewhat intact rear doors of the van buckled with a dull thump. It appeared that one of their bank-robbing scum was still kicking.

The doors were dealt another blow before swinging open like a yawning maw. Their remaining criminal birthed from the back of the van, slumped against the pavement with a pained shout. Blood and a tattered balaclava obscuring the individual’s face, though there was no mistaking the utter terror flashing in their eyes.

“Oh god, no…” The robber choked over a mouthful of blood, scrambling back as Oliver and Laurel drew near. The panic igniting a sick excitement in Oliver, a feeling he knew his lover shared by the wicked grin on her lips.

The criminal blubbered, openly and gripped with fear, “I’ll go to jail. I’ll turn myself in.” Their prey sobbed. The sentiment earning a laugh from Oliver.

“That’s not an option.” Oliver growled, watching as the surviving robber gave a loud wail at the realization that death wasn’t far off.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Laurel added, gesturing to an ugly jut of broken femur piercing skin and clothes alike. The robber gave a strangled sound of anguish, shoulders seizing and breath shortening as the adrenaline coursing through them petered out. Slumping to the pavement with a garbled bloody cough.

“Shock set in.” Laurel commented, still lingering by Oliver’s side.

“I know.” Oliver replied quickly, his bowstring pulled taut before releasing a well placed to the chest, the pointed head of his arrow piercing the heart. The impact sending the criminal scraping against the pavement, a final shallow wet gasp rasped out.

Letting out a sigh, Oliver turned his attention to Laurel, a smile on her lips as she pressed up against his side. They had stopped the robbery, now they could celebrate.

\--

Sprawled out on their bed, Laurel rumbled a pleased moan, shivering as Oliver pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. His lips wet with her release as he crawled up from his spot between her legs. A dreamy smile on lips as she pulled him into a kiss.

Laurel could confirm that her life was  _ good _ . She got to play cops and robbers like she did when she was little, saving the city like her father always said she would, except these games ended in more blood...and she liked it that way, so did Ollie.

They were celebrating a successful kill, not the usual mundane prey they had been relegated to hunting, no this one was personal. They had managed to sink their claws into one of the remaining members of Oliver’s former team. The list of those still living was growing shorter and shorter, and Laurel was more than proud of her contribution to the effort. Those fuckers had chosen Felicity fucking Smoak over him, in Laurel’s opinion they certainly had what was coming to them, and she was far too happy to deliver justice on Oliver’s behalf.

Curtis Holt was no more, not that he had ever posed a threat to begin with, but his name could officially be crossed off of their list. One of those ridiculous spheres he engineered sitting on their shelf as a reminder of the kill, the metal stained with the egregious splatter of brains and little pieces of bone. Bludgeoning the poor excuse of a vigilante to death with his own device had been a rather brilliant contribution on Oliver’s part.

That silly hockey mask residing on the shelf beside their reminder of Curtis marked the first of their kills. Rene had foolishly taken the fight to them shortly after the incident at the docks. He had been unsurprisingly brash and overconfident. It had been fun to make that mutt howl.

Killing Ragman had been the most challenging, prying off those damn rags had been a hassle. Even still, trial and error offered a solution in the form of a potent enough sonic scream to unbond the rags from the man. Beneath the mystical bullshit, he was just a man, soft and fragile and easy to break. That creepy patchwork mask sat alongside the other collectables, a souvenir of each successful hunt. Each one shifting some cosmic scale back in Oliver’s favor.

Despite their recent success there was still a name waiting for them: Felicity Smoak. Laurel could admit she was almost envious of the loyalty the other woman inspired in her troops. None had spilled an ounce of info on the pesky little blonde, though she and Oliver had been thorough in their questioning. It was nearly admirable, if not for the fact that she and her lot had almost gotten Laurel killed for the sake of jealousy and staged some coup against Oliver to prove a point.

Staring at the shelf displaying their souvenirs, Laurel stared at the spot she had saved for the bothersome blonde. They’d fill it, one day.

Oliver had disappeared into the kitchen to fix them some snacks, still riding the high of their successful kill, when Laurel emerged from a brief shower, barely wrapped up in a towel. A faint flit of a shadow against the wall drawing her attention, mere moments before a figure pounced upon her. Thrashing against the body that was so clearly not Oliver, Laurel ducked beneath the jab of a pointed throwing star...Prometheus. Of course.

“Black Siren-” The hooded villain drawled in that deep distorted voice of his. A well timed shove staggering her assailant far enough for her to breathe. Swallowing as she sized her foe up, hands curled into fists as she broadened her stance.

Her eyes following the grandiose flourish of his sword, light catching on the freshly sharpened blade.

“You got him to show his true colors far sooner than I could’ve hoped,” He rasped, giving his sword another twirl, “your precious Oliver Queen…”

If Prometheus was planning on boring her to death, she feared he might actually succeed. Normally, Laurel wasn’t one for lengthy villainous monologues, but an exception could be made for the thrill of excitement that skittered through her as a shadow eased behind her oblivious attacker.

_ Ollie… _

“I’ll admit, I wanted to do the honors myself...reveal the killer in him.” Prometheus growled, his sword pointed in her direction as Laurel struggled to swallow her squeal of excitement at the gleam of barely restrained rage in Oliver’s eyes.

“Well,” Laurel said breathlessly, a sloppy cocktail of panic, excitement, and a whole lot of lust frothing in her, jerking her chin in Oliver’s direction, “There’s still time for that.” She remarked, slumping back against the wall as Oliver grappled with their intruder. His arms seizing around the hooded terror’s neck, his grip firm and unrelenting, though they continued to come to blows. Laurel followed as the men stumbled from the bedroom, muscles tingling with a rush of excitement as she went. Her tongue wetting her lips as she watched the pair stagger back, Prometheus still seemingly intact, as was Oliver - dressed in the little skintight black boxer-briefs he had thrown on earlier.

Prometheus brandished his sword, far too cowardly to make use of the bow slung across his back despite the space between them. Any arrow fired in Oliver’s direction, would just be one more weapon in his possession

Unarmed and apparently unfazed Oliver remained patient, hands raised defensively as he waited for his opponent to make the first move. It was slow going, Prometheus was outnumbered and far shyer with the addition of Oliver. Eventually the hooded villain took his chance, charging forward, sword slashing at the air.

Laurel watched keenly, her eyes drinking in the exchange of blows, smiling as Oliver weaved easily around each strike. He was agile, dancing blindly in the dark, moving confidently through their apartment. He countered each slash in his direction with a sharp jab and the occasional kick, almost teasing in a way, luring his opponent closer.

“You’re not a hero, Mr. Queen.” Prometheus snarled, a heavy distaste in his distorted voice. 

“No, I’m not.” Oliver confirmed with a feral grin, his smile sharper than his meticulously maintained arrowheads.

His opponent charged forward again, breath stuttering and sword clattering suddenly as Oliver quickly kicked his feet out from beneath him. The villain sprawled on his back, his emotionless visage glaring up at Oliver who loomed above him.

Laurel felt heat tingle low in her belly, as she watched Oliver bend swiftly at the waist, snatching up the abandoned sword. Not an ounce of hesitation in his decision to bring the weapon swiftly down, burying the blade in his attacker’s shoulder and subsequently into the floor. There was a garbled sound of pain, muffled through the mask, the sound urging Laurel to her feet.

Watching the pair with baited breath, Laurel felt a hot swarm of butterflies bloom in her belly as she watched Oliver step cruelly on Prometheus’ neck. The sword holding his quarry in place as he applied more pressure. The villain’s limbs shook, free arms flailing to push Oliver off, to no avail.

“That doesn’t feel good, does it?” Oliver asked rhetorically, casting a knowing glance in Laurel’s direction. God, he could be so fucking romantic sometimes. 

Watching as Oliver propped his arm against the butt of the sword, leaning his weight into the weapon, Laurel could hear the ragged sound of their intruder’s exclamation of pain.

Inching closer as she watched Oliver reach for the mask covering Prometheus’ face, Laurel felt worry grip her at the metallic glint of a throwing star poised for Oliver’s chest.

“Ollie.” Laurel called out in warning.

Her baited breath left her in a relieved sigh as Oliver caught the offending wrist swiftly. The small weapon still clutched in his opponent’s grasp, jerking the arm back at an unnatural angle to bury the sharp head into the hooded villain’s side. Prometheus bucked wildly in pain as Oliver forced the weapon deeper, likely shimmying the tapered blade between ribs. His fingers wet with blood as he pushed the broken villain back flat onto the ground, his limp form unresponsive as Oliver reached for his cowl again.

Laurel loomed over Oliver’s shoulder now, watching as he yanked the cowl away to reveal a face that she didn’t recognize, but clearly he did. 

“Adrian.” Oliver said with a surprised hum, the man’s dim blue eyes flickered lazily at the sound of his name.

He sputtered weakly on a mouthful of blood, his teeth stained crimson as he gave an even weaker grin at the vigilantes who observed him.

“Doesn’t matter if you kill me-” He said, gasping as Oliver yanked free the blade from his shoulder, tossing the sword aside. Watery rivulets of blood dribbled from his mouth, his throat bobbing as he attempted to swallow mouthful.

“ _ This _ is what you are: a monster, a villain, a killer…like me.” Adrian wheezed in a bloody laugh, his grin unbearably proud. His smile faltering, body shaking as Oliver dug his fingers into the ugly opening in his side, a faint glimmer of the offending throwing star visible from where Laurel stood.

His haunting blue eyes went wide at the sinuous tearing of muscle and flesh as Oliver unearthed the weapon, fingers and metal alike coated heavily in blood.

“No, Adrian, I’m  _ better _ than you.” Oliver imparted finally with a grin, watching the horror solidify on the dying man’s face as what was left of his life faded away. Dizzy with excitement, Laurel giggled as Oliver rose the growing pool of blood on the floor.

The bloodied throwing star presented in offering as Oliver pulled her into a hungry kiss. His touch dirtying her formerly clean skin, and she loved it. Oliver reeked of sex, sweat, and death. Her arms around him, his lips on hers, it wasn’t long until the cooling corpse and midnight snacks were forgotten. Oliver rumbled a lusty sound against the crook of her neck as Laurel eagerly pulled him back to their room, they could tidy up in the morning, for the moment, they had some celebrating to do.

\--

Laurel had been rearranging their little collection of souvenirs, the blood on the newest addition had dried in the few days since the kill. Things had been quiet recently, with Prometheus done and dusted, crime had become nearly nonexistent. Oliver’s approval rating was up since the mysterious disappearance of the throwing-star killer. Life was good, a little boring, but good.

Perking up at the feel of Oliver’s arms around her, Laurel gave a giggle at the smile he pressed into the crook of her neck. Her breath sputtered from her lips in squeak at the eager roll of his hips against her rear. Someone was excited.

“Hey you.” Laurel greeted, gasping into the hungry clamor of his hands.

“Mmm.” He purred against her neck.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Oliver announced after a moment, her curiosity spurring Laurel to face her lover.

“A surprise?” She echoed, giving an interested quirk of her brows at the auspicious grin on his lips.

“Yeah.” Oliver confirmed, his hands linking with hers.

“What kind?” Laurel asked, her teeth catching at her lower lip as she observed him. Oliver was practically glowing with excitement.

“The good kind.” He assured her with a warm smile.

Pausing she gave him a grin, “Is it more fishnets?” She asked teasingly, enjoying the way his cheeks turned ruddy with an adorable blush. Giving a playful nip at his lower lip, Laurel smirked at the way he trembled, bowing into her space, breathing her air-

“Well then, lead the way.” She said, smiling as he did just that. Guiding her from their bedroom out into the open living area. Situated over the blood-stained wood, was a trembling figure, hooded and bound to one of the new dining chairs she had picked out.

Fixing Oliver with a curious stare, Laurel only felt her anticipation swell at the encouraging look on his face. Nearing the bound figure, Laurel felt her stomach get fluttery at the realization that their prey was a woman...could it be? No, no…now she was just being greedy.

Her finger tingled with pins and needles as her hand hovered above the cowl hiding the woman’s face. Her throat tight and skin hot as she turned her gaze to Oliver once more where he lingered by her side.

“Go ahead.” He murmured, an imploring look in his eyes.

Licking her lips, Laurel flexed her numb fingers, sucking in a sharp breath as she finally plucked off the covering obscuring their prey’s face. Tossing the cowl away, Laurel nearly doubled over in elation at the panicked face that stared back at her.

_ Felicity Smoak… _

“Oh, Ollie!” Laurel exclaimed happily, leaping into Oliver’s arm in a thrilled hug. Staring back at their trembling quarry with matching giddy grins. Her glasses were broken, eyes watering, mouth muffled with a cloth gag. Laurel preened under the gentle press of Oliver’s lips against her temple.That force that connected them rippled like a livewire, hot and charged with energy that was entirely their own.

Felicity thrashed feebly at her bindings, choked sounds smothered by her gag. She sobbed Oliver’s name, muffled and choppy with emotion, desperate for him to save her, crying out into the obscuring strip of cloth. It was amusing, her efforts were all in vain, a cloying fear hanging in the air as Laurel grinned excitedly at her gift. The woman who had betrayed Oliver.

Taking his face in her palms, Laurel smiled as she leaned into the warmth of his lips without hesitation. The possessive clasp of his palm over her hip, the hungry plunge of his tongue between her welcoming lips. It seemed he was feeling particularly performative, not that Laurel minded in the slightest. Beaming with unfettered joy at the distressed whimpers squeaked out by their prey. Apparently Felicity minded the sight of them, offended by the intimate tangle of their limbs and closeness of their lips. Laurel smiled against Oliver’s cheek, a little PDA was the least of her problems.

Leaning in close, Laurel savored the frantic sound of Felicity’s breathing, the weak pathetic whimpers. Plucking off her broken glasses with agile fingers, Laurel grinned down at the split pair of glasses in her hands - they’d look perfect alongside the others on the shelf. Handing off the glasses to Oliver, her lover gave her a knowing look.

“Happy hunting, Pretty Bird.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be honest, I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot. It's so messy and fucked up, but also something that was, in my opinion, in the realm of possibility given how things were in season 5.

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure how I feel about this fic. I want very badly to love it, the idea was one that I enjoyed a lot. I struggled with the execution though. Anyway, if you enjoyed it please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I do love to hear what my readers have to say.
> 
> **I potentially have more to add to a second chapter. Is that something people would be into?


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